Phosphorescence by Raffaella Barker

always wears. Oh, and a tiny whiff of the soft salt air of the marshes.
    â€˜There we are, how nice. Tike! Tansy! Get down now.’ Grandma hugs me and her terriers leap to join in. ‘Now you must come through and see Jack. He’s been waiting for you.’
    In the drawing room, Jack’s usual chair in front of the fire is more inviting than ever with a pillow and a multicoloured crocheted blanket on it, and in the middle of all that, with a newspaper sliding off his lap and his glasses propped on his forehead, is Jack, looking keenly towards the door like Tike the terrier.
    â€˜Well, well,’ he smiles, and holds out a hand to me.
    My nose tingles and my eyes fill with tears. I’m not sure if I’m crying because I’m pleased to see him or because he looks so fragile. The copper band he always wears on his wrist is loose, but the smile in his eyes is the same as ever, and I perch on the arm of his chair until Grandma and Dad come through with a tray of tea. I don’t like to say it’s my second, so I don’t. And it is never hard to find room for the food Grandma makes. We are all eating small sandwiches off pink china with gold stars. Tike, Tansy and Cactus are at our feet, licking their lips and looking soulful. Grandma shakes her head at them and says, ‘No feeding terriers,’ as if she knows I was about to split my crusts between them. Jack and Dad are discussing the recent big tides.
    â€˜There’s a porpoise carcass up on the top of the island.’ Dad has put his plate down and he leans back in his chair looking at the fire crackling in front of him. ‘A young one. It must have got exhausted and separated from the others in the storms.’
    â€˜Unusual at this time of year,’ says Jack. ‘D’you know what kind?’
    â€˜No. I saw Billy and his dad today. They were collecting lugworms.’
    â€˜They never stop collecting lugworms,’ jokes Jack. ‘I can’t think what they do with them all. The fish they’re after must feast and never get caught.’
    I stuff another sandwich in my mouth, as a random thought sails into my head: just imagine bringing someone like Pansy or gorgeous Harry Sykes here to Grandma’s house. Imagine Harry Sykes sitting on a little low chair in his skateboarding shoes with the laces undone, eating small sandwiches off pink china. The thought makes me smile to myself, and when I go to the loo and look in the mirror, I can’t really believe that I am part of both of these worlds. I look normal; well, as normal as I can with my hair out of control as usual and my eyeshadow a bit brighter than I reckoned for when I was putting it on. But I don’t look like someone leading a double life, when actually that is how I feel.
    I suppose it’s possible that Pansy and people like her have grandparents, and maybe they even live in the country, but I can’t imagine it. I am definitely the only one in my London school whose family thinks it’s normal to talk about lugworms. I think I’ll keep it to myself. It’s better that way.
    Nell is banging on the door before I have even finished breakfast the next day. Cactus leaps off my knee and quivers expectantly by the letterbox,thinking she is delivering a news-paper. I open the door.
    â€˜You know, you even sound like a paper round person now,’ I tease, as we hug each other. ‘Cactus thought you were delivering something for him to eat.’
    â€˜Don’t laugh,’ says Nell, putting a plastic box on the table. ‘But he’s right. My mum has sent a batch of rolls she’s made, and I don’t know how old she thinks you are, but I’m afraid they’re shaped like hedgehogs.’
    We are both so inflated with euphoria that one peep into the Tupperware box at the shiny, brown, prickle-backed rolls with crinkled raisin eyes has us both collapsed in giggles.
    â€˜I think it’s most kind of